


Making Steam

by watanuki_sama



Series: Shards Of Quantum Glass [1]
Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: (but that's really no surprise right), Gen, Superheroes AU, Wes has some self-esteem issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 02:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: First, the superhero Hothead meets the vigilante Frostbite. Then Hothead meets Wes Mitchell. And finally, Travis Marks meets Wes Mitchell.





	Making Steam

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 02.15.18.
> 
>  
> 
> PROMPT: Superheroes

_“It's going to be a lot of fun, hot and steamy, just the way I like it.”_   
_—Harland Williams_

\---

The first time Travis, in his guise of Hothead, defender of the city, meets the new vigilante, he’s hanging upside down from the claw of one of TechnoByte’s robots. The vigilante, that is, not Travis. Travis is up on the catwalk, mocking him.

The robot is still, the villain long gone, but it got a hold of the vigilante tight and frankly, it’s kind of hilarious.

He gives a slow clap, and the vigilante’s masked head snaps over to him.

“Very nice,” he calls, “very impressive. I especially liked how you froze the circuits to shut it down. That was innovative, really.”

The vigilante wriggles in the robot’s grasp. “Go away!” 

“I mean, you were doing really well,” Travis continues, resting his arms on the railing. “You were totally holding your own, and that’s not something easily said about these bots. So good job.” He makes a sound. “I mean, right until your power fritzed on you. Then it all went pear-shaped.”

“Leave! Me! Alone!” the vigilante grunts, wriggling helplessly.

“You sure?” Travis coos. “You sure you don’t need a hand? Your face is getting a little red, buddy.”

“I’ve got it!” The vigilante stops wiggling and makes the most intense concentration face ever. Ice slowly forms on the robot’s metal hand/claw thing.

Though Travis doesn’t make a sound, the vigilante’s concentration lapses and the ice melts in an instant.

“You _sure_ you don’t need any help?” Travis calls.

“Go away!” the vigilante screams. “I’m fine! I don’t need help!”

“See, I don’t know about that,” Travis says with a cluck of his tongue. “My job is to help people in need, and frankly, I’m seeing a lot of need here.” He climbs up on the railing, easily jumping from the catwalk down to the robot’s shoulder, bowing elegantly to the captive vigilante. “I offer my services.”

The vigilante’s eyes widen. “No, don’t you dare—!”

But it’s too late. Travis claps his hands together and forms a sword of molten fire, three feet long and white hot.

Shouting exuberantly, Travis swings, slicing through the robot’s arm. With a panicked yell, the vigilant and the metal hand/claw fall to the ground. A lucky snowdrift appears under the falling hero, and flakes flurry up when he lands, gentle as a dove. 

“Hey, good job,” Travis crows, applauding. The vigilante wipes snow from his hair and glares up at him.

Needless to say, their first meeting doesn’t go very well.

\---

“So get this, I’ve been thinking,” Travis says, the second time they meet. He holds out his hands. “Frostbite. It’s catchy, right?”

The vigilante makes a muffled sound of protest. Or maybe agreement, it’s hard to tell with the thick gunk plastered over his nose and mouth.

“I mean, it fits,” Travis continues, stepping over chunks of the jelly monster that spat the goo. “You make ice, and from the five-second news clip I saw last week, your personality isn’t anything to cuddle with.” He nods decisively. “Yeah. Frostbite is perfect.”

The vigilante makes a garbled sound of rage.

Travis hops over the last squishy chunk of jelly monster to where the other male is stuck to the wall. “Good job with the ice bomb, by the way,” he says, because it’s important new powers on the street get validation for what they do right or they’ll get discouraged and quit. Or so his mentor always said “Just lobbed it in and froze him from the inside out.”

He sticks out his index fingers, forming a flame like a blowtorch, and starts running it across the goo covering the vigilante’s face, hardening it to brittle. “I mean, who knew ice would just enrage it, right? Tough luck on that one. But the _concept_ was pretty genius.”

The goo hardens enough that Travis easily cracks it free, and the first words out of the other man’s mouth are, “I hate you so much.”

Travis just grins. “Aww, don’t be like that, man. You’ll get there.”

“No, really,” the vigilante says earnestly, “I really, really hate you.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Travis coos, and continues to break the other hero free.

\---

Travis, as Travis Marks, off-duty cop, is standing in the teller’s line when the robbers burst into the bank.

Luckily, he always keeps a spare uniform on under his clothes, so he dives behind a desk while people are screaming and shouting and strips to spandex. He pulls his mask out of his motorcycle helmet, shoves his stuff under the desk, and stands.

“Really, guys?” he quips, causing four machine guns to swivel towards him. “Ski masks? How cliché can you get?”

It’s not, perhaps, the smartest idea, because all four robbers open fire, and while Travis can do a lot of things, stopping bullets isn’t one of them. He recoils, throws up his hands and flames shoot defensively from his fingers but it’s not going to stop those little pieces of lead and he knows it. Oh god, is this how he’s going to die? How pathetic. There’s not a supervillain in sight.

A massive _crack_ sounds, like a dozen windows cracking at once, and Travis doesn’t feel a strafe of bullets tearing through him. He opens his eyes.

There’s a wall of ice in front of him, two feet thick and so perfectly clear he can see the robber’s look of shock on the other side.

“Did you do that?” one of the robbers demands. _Not_ the smart one, this guy.

Travis rolls his eyes. “Yes, I did that with my fire powers. Of course not, you dumbass.” He spots a streak of silver and blue behind the four robbers and has to struggle to keep his face still. If he can see them so clearly, then they can see him, and he doesn’t want to give anything away.

He takes a breath, dropping his hands to his side, and starts channeling his powers down his arms. No visible flames, just heat, pooling in his palms like lava.

“No, I didn’t make the wall,” he says, watching the figure sneak up behind the robbers. He gives a tiny nod. “But I _did_ do _this!”_

He plunges his magma-hot hands into the ice. Thick as it is, it still melts almost instantly, filling the air with steam.

The robbers shout in confusion, firing blindly at the wall of ice. Which would be a good strategy, if Travis was alone.

Travis isn’t alone.

The vigilante takes two of the robbers out, freezing the barrels of their guns and encasing their feet in blocks of ice. Travis bursts through the ice wall and tackles the other two, grabbing their guns as he explodes from the ice. Metal melts and warps in his boiling hands, heat traveling up the weapons to burn the robbers. They drop the guns with a yelp, and it’s easy to subdue them after that.

As the steam clears and the police rush inside, Travis grins at the vigilante. “Smile for the cameras, babe. You’re a hero now.”

The vigilante just scowls and doesn’t say a word.

(Later, Travis goes over the security tapes. If the ice cube was able to throw up that wall so quickly, then in theory he was inside the bank like Travis was. But try as he might, he can’t pick one figure out of the crowd.)

\---

“ ‘Hothead and Frostbite thwart bank robbers!’ ” Travis reads from atop a parked car. “I told you it was catchy. People love a good play on words.”

The vigilante ducks as the villain of the week spits acid at him. “Shut up!”

“ ‘A steamy new duo forms!’ ” he continues, lifting a foot to avoid getting splashed. “Hey, now _there’s_ an idea. We could totally team up together! We’d be so very yin-yang. Fire and ice, hot and cold. I love the steam pun, by the way.”

“Are you going to help?!” the other super screeches, shooting icicles at the villain. “Or are you just going to sit there?!”

“I don’t know, buddy, you seem to have it under control.” Even as Travis says it, the vigilante’s powers sputter to a halt, icicles falling midair. “Oops, spoke too soon.”

“Get _down_ here!” the vigilante hollers, ducking behind another car as more acid streams towards him.

“If you insist.” Tossing the newspaper to the side, Travis hops down, crouching beside the icy super. “You know, if we’re going to do this, you’re gonna need to work on those control issues. I know some people who can help.”

The vigilante glares at him, frost swirling on his hands. “I hate you. _So much.”_

“Aww, look at that.” Travis makes a pouting face. “We only just got together and we’re already having our first fight.” He flexes his hands, forming fireballs in his palms. “Let me show you how it’s done, baby.”

“I hope she spits in your face!” the other man shouts as Travis leaps out, and Travis just laughs.

\---

Seventeen stories, and every one of them is on fire. Travis pulls his mask on, thinking it was awfully lucky he came this way home instead of stopping by the bar.

The relief on the firefighters’ faces show just how much trouble they’re having with the blaze. “Anyone still inside?” he demands.

“Two people, fifth floor,” one fireman shouts. “A little girl got left behind in the evac. A guy from the crowd ran in before we could stop him. Neither of ‘em came out yet.”

“Got it!” Travis takes a breath and runs forward, into the fire. Flames lick at his skin; where he can, he absorbs heat and fire into his flesh, making his way up, but he’s only human, no matter how super. There’s only so much fire he can hold inside of himself.

The fifth floor is little better than the first, and his skin already feels close to bursting with the pressure inside. He pauses at the top of the stairs, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to find them. 

He doesn’t have to wonder long. The fire tells him. _This way,_ it whispers in the crackle and snaps. _This way. There’s something wrong this way._

He follows the whisper, down the hall into an apartment at the end. And in the middle of the living room, with flames eating at the edges, is a perfect bubble of ice.

_Wrong, wrong,_ the fire whispers, and Travis goes, _Oh._

He chuckles. “Look at you. Getting it right when you have to. When there’s someone else on the line.” He staggers forward, pressing his hands against the bubble. “We’re gonna have to work on that, baby.”

The ice melts beneath his hands, but the flames don’t ravage the occupants inside; Travis won’t let it. There’s a little girl clutching a teddy bear, and hunched protectively over her is a blond man in a grey suit. He looks up, and Travis recognizes those eyes, the sharpest blue in the world. Normally they’re staring out of a mask, is all.

He smiles. “Hey, partner. I’m here to rescue you.”

The blond stares at Travis another second.

Then his eyes flutter shut and he collapses.

Somehow, Travis manages to get them all back down. He’s not sure how he carries the blonde without burning him with the fire beneath his skin, and he’s really not sure how he absorbs enough flames to clear a path down, but he manages, swallowing fire like a dragon.

Somehow, though, he makes it—they _all_ make it—and he hands the girl to her weeping mother and the man to the paramedics.

He stays long enough to get the man’s name before he staggers off. He’ll need a long bath in a cold tub to cool the heat in his skin tonight.

\---

“Wesley Mitchell?”

The blonde pauses on the steps of the courthouse, glancing over with a frosty, polite expression. “Yes?”

Travis flashes his badge. “Detective Travis Marks. Can I have a moment?”

Wes nods, stepping to the side of the stairs. “What’s this about, detective?” There’s no recognition on his face. But there wouldn’t be, would there? Wes has never seen _Travis Marks,_ he’s only met Hothead. And Travis isn’t doing anything flamey and obvious for Wes to make the connection.

Travis coughs. “It’s about, uh, your extra-curricular activities.”

The blonde’s face, if possible, gets even colder. “I think you have the wrong person. If you’ll excuse me…” He steps around Travis, heading down the steps again.

“Wait! Wait, wait.” Travis jumps in front of him, grabbing his arm. “That’s not what I…I’m not here to out you, okay? I’m part of the same club.” He pulls the collar of his shirt down, revealing spandex.

He sees the moment Wes recognizes the red-and-black costume, sees the way his eyes widen. “You’re…”

“Yeah.” Travis fixes his shirt, releases Wes’s arm. “So can we talk?”

The blonde studies his face for a long moment. Travis resists the urge to fidget. Finally, Wes sighs and starts walking. “Come on. I know a place.”

\---

Five minutes later sees them seated in a corner booth of a quiet little café. The waitress sets their orders in front of them and fades away. Travis eyes his turkey club gleefully.

Wes picks up his coffee, stirring sugar substitute in. “So,” he says conversationally. “I hate that name.”

“Wes?” Travis mumbles around a mouth of delicious sandwich.

Wes pulls a face and not-so-subtly pushes the napkin dispenser his way. “Frostbite. It’s a ridiculous name. Almost as bad as Hothead.”

“Hey! That’s a great name. I came up with it myself.”

The blonde smiles insincerely. “I figured you probably did.”

Travis pops a stray piece of lettuce in his mouth. “I told you, man. People love a good play on words.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s already run in like three major newspapers. You’re stuck with the moniker, my friend.”

“I was afraid of that,” Wes sighs. He delicately takes a sip of his coffee. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Travis looks at his plate. “Just…wanted to say hi, I guess. I haven’t met any other supers, outside of the mask.” He looks up with a grin. “We should totally work together.”

One pale eyebrow goes up. “Why would you possibly want to work together? Other than the steam puns, if you say it’s the puns I will leap over this table and punch you.”

Travis is totally liking this guy. “The puns are a bonus, not the whole reason. Remember the bank? We nailed it. We’d be awesome together.”

Wes sips his coffee. “You’re always making fun of my lack of control.”

“Yes,” Travis admits, because it’s one hundred percent true. “Yes I am.” He knows there’s a story there, some reason _why_ Wes has such trouble managing his powers. But he doesn’t ask, not at their first real meeting. Instead he says, “That’s why we should team up. It’ll be good practice. Also, we _rocked.”_

The corner of Wes’s mouth twitches. “We kind of did, didn’t we?”

“I know, right?” He grins beguilingly. “So is that a yes?”

“It’s a maybe,” Wes allows.

“Sweet.” Travis leans back smugly. “This’ll be great. The papers did call us ‘steamy’, you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Wes gives him a flat stare. Then he leans over and touches Travis’s glass. The Coke turns to ice.

Travis stares at his frozen beverage. “Wow. That was ridiculously petty.” He looks up in alarm as Wes rises. “Hey, hey, where are you going?”

“I’m done with m coffee,” the blonde says, tossing a few bills on the table. “And I have a job to get back to. As do you, I would think.”

Travis grabs the other man’s sleeve before he can vanish. “But what about what we talked about? Partnering up?”

Wes gently shrugs out of his grasp. “I have to go now. But I’ll see you tonight, on patrol.” Adjusting his suit jacket, he waves goodbye to the waitress and leaves.

Travis touches his Coke, melting the soda back to drinkable form, and he grins.

Steamy indeed.


End file.
